A/N: Here you go, folks - the final showdown. (but not the last chapter, obviously. :)


Sam was scared.

Run-and-hide, curl-up-in-a-ball-and-cry scared.

Unfortunately for him, his brother had just finished tying his wrists and ankles, making that impossible.

His mind raced with half-formed, panicky thoughts, but inevitably returned to the same burning question –

Why is Dean doing this to me?

He trusted Dean, implicitly, wholly - but none of this was making any sense. Without the benefit of understanding, he had to fight to keep from spiraling into terror.

Dean was somewhere behind him, and Sam could hear the sound of matches being lit, could smell wax burning. His breath hitched in fear, sounding loud against the bare surface of the table under his cheek. He pulled at his bindings, twisting his hands weakly in an attempt to loosen them. Dean was an expert with knots, however, and they remained secure.

"Sammy," Dean said softly, and Sam opened his eyes to see his brother staring at him in concern and grim apology. He held a bundle of dried herbs in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other.

"Untie me? Please? I- I'll do what you ask me to, you don't have to tie me. Please." He begged, loathing the weakness in his voice.

Dean looked forlorn but resolute as he stepped forward and leaned down.

"I wish I could, kiddo, but it's not your cooperation I'm worried about."

Sam whimpered in frustration, yanking sharply against the ties on his wrists.

"It'll be over soon, I promise, Sam." Dean said thickly, and Sam closed his eyes against the pain in his brother's gaze.

Then there was the scent of burning herbs, and Dean began to read.


Dean hated the fear in Sam's voice, the panic in his eyes. Everything in him rebelled against this and when Sam whimpered, Dean nearly broke He wanted to untie his brother more than he wanted to breathe - but it had to be this way if Sam were to survive.

"It'll be over soon, I promise, Sam." He said through a tightening throat. Sam's eyes closed. Dean steeled himself against his guilt and started the rite.

He had placed the five lit consecrated candles on the floor, below Sam's hands, feet, and head. He'd poured the holy water into a basin, which now sat at his feet.

Bending, he lit the bundle of Angelica root in his right hand and began to read from the paper.

"Ego beatus is factum per divinus causa,"

He waved the burning herbs over Sam's head three times, then swiftly dunked them in the bowl of holy water. They extinguished with a hiss, a small puff of steam rising.

Sam's fingers twitched, tapping lightly off the table, and his eyes snapped opened.

"Extrarius phasmatis – absum, absum, absum."

He shook the singed Angelica as he spoke, spattering ashy holy water over Sam's back.

Sam gasped, his body going rigid and his eyes rolling upward. The hospital gown was open in the back, revealing bare skin from the bandages at his skull to the waistband of his drawstring pants. Droplets trailed down the contour of his back, collecting in the gentle curve at the base of his spine.

"In nomen of vetus filiolus,"

Dean dunked the Angelica again, flinging more holy water over his brother. Sam jolted against the bindings and moaned loudly. Only the whites of his eyes showed and he panted, turning his face towards the surface of the table. The air in the room felt increasingly charged, and Dean felt a growing urgency. He read faster, his voice rising to be heard over Sam's escalating cries.

"Vos es iacio sicco vos es profugus, absum nunquam ut reverto!"

Sam was screaming now, agony in his voice, and Dean knew that Hauser was fighting to remain within him. Digging in and holding on.

He brought the Angelica down sharply against Sam's back, forcing himself to ignore Sam's sobbing screams as he brought the herbs down on his skin over and over again.

"Solvo is animus quod exsisto privates!"

Sam choked on his own cry, his body trembling wildly. He went totally rigid, his head coming up off the table as his back arched severely.

"Solvo is animus quod exsisto privates!" Dean repeated, shouting even though Sam had been reduced to only wheezing.

Blood began to trickle from Sam's nose, landing in perfect, round dots on the sterile tabletop. He gave a great, heaving gasp, and a blue web of electricity crackled over his skull, singing the bandages.

Deanraised an arm to cover his eyes as the spirit exploded into the air in a shower of sparks, hissing and wailing. He lunged forward, covering Sam's vulnerable body with his own and shielding him.

An enraged, mournful cry filled the room, fading even as Daniel Hauser screamed out his denial. The electricity in the air seemed to lessen, and a moment later, a calm filled the room.

Dean pulled back from his brother cautiously, scanning the air for any sign of the spirit. Thenhe turned back to Sam, who was utterly still and silent.

"Sammy,"

He put a hand on Sam's warm back, feeling its stillness, and realized that his brother wasn't breathing.

"Oh, sit, Sam, don't…" he begged, as panic filled him and he fumbled to untie his brother's ankles.

"Come on, come on!"

His desperate hands slipped as he yanked the knots out, and he cursed himself angrily.

Just as he had freed both of his brother's feet, Sam jerked weakly and gasped, gulping desperately at the air. Dean nearly sobbed with relief, moving swiftly to Sam's hands and pulling at the bindings.

"Hang on, kiddo, hang on," he chanted, fingers shaking as the adrenaline ebbed from his body. Sam moaned pitifully, his voice full of fear and shock. He tugged frantically at the ties, tightening the knots even as Dean worked to undo them.

Cursing, Dean pulled his knife from his boot and sawed quickly through the fabric. Sam's arms snapped free, and he wrenched them down to his chest as he turned on his side and drew up his knees.

Dean moved around the table until he was in front of his brother, muttering automatic reassurances as he drew Sam gently into his arms.

Sam sobbed wretchedly, his body quaking with terror, his breath hot against Dean's chest. His arms snaked around Dean's waist, tightening painfully as he gasped and cried.

Dean grimaced, but didn't try to loosen his brother's hold. Sam could break his spine and he wouldn't complain.

Because his brother was alive. And nothing else mattered.


Overwhelming horror and denial filled Sam, and he was only distantly aware of his brother holding him and speaking. His body shook with the aftershocks of severe pain and his muscles felt bruised and sore.

There had been something in him, in his mind. He hadn't even known it was there until it had started to fight. He'd felt it grasping desperately at him, his nerve-endings shrieking at every point of contact. His consciousness had felt like a minefield of pain, and this presence was galloping through it, setting off explosions of agony with ever step.

For a moment he had forgotten who he was, forgotten everything except suffering. And that was the most frightening thing of all – that abandonment of reason and self. Sam had never experienced anything like it, and the gratitude he felt when awareness returned to him was so overwhelming it nearly broke him.

Dean was running a soothing hand up and down his bare spine, palm bumping gently over his vertebrae. Sam took a shuddering breath and slumped in exhaustion, his shoulders hunching into his brother's ribs. An alarming weakness filled him, and his eyes started to close of their own accord.

He faintly heard Dean calling out his name -then blackness overtook him, and he knew no more.


"Sam?"

Dean caught his brother as he slumped forward in unconsciousness, worry flaring in him. But Sam was still breathing, still warm, and Dean knew it was likely that he'd just passed out from an adrenaline crash. Unsure what else to do, Dean gently lifted his brother in a fireman's hold, dismayed at how light Sam had gotten. Abandoning the remains of the rite, as well as the wheelchair, he carried his brother back to B Wing.

Trying to hurry without jostling Sam too badly, he made his way to the nursing station, calling for help as he approached. Muriel's kindly face appeared above the counter, going white with shock as she took in the pair before her.

"Oh, my Lord! What's happened?"

She raced around the counter, pulling off her stethoscope and gesturing Dean towards an empty gurney against the wall. He laid Sam down as gently as possible and stepped back to allow Muriel access to his brother.

"I found him out of bed," Dean lied weakly, watching her pry up Sam's eyelids. "He was like this when I found him."

"I thought you'd gone home," she said, and there was a slightly accusing tone to her voice.

"I was on my way out, but I forgot something so I went back."

He knew how weak that sounded, and when she looked up at him intensely, he knew she didn't believe him. He put as much sincerity in his eyes as he could, and she sighed and looked away.

"I didn't hurt him, Muriel. I would never hurt him. He's my brother."

She stared at him evenly for a moment, then nodded.

"Was he conscious when you found him?" she asked, and Dean slumped in relief.

"Yeah," he exhaled, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Is- is he gonna be okay?"

"I think so," Muriel said, her voice softening. 'Believe it or not, I think he's simply in a very deep sleep."

Dean sighed and rested a hand on Sam's shin.

"I need you to help me get him back into his bed," Muriel instructed, popping to wheel locks on the gurney and pushing it toward Sam's room. Dean nodded dumbly, grabbing a rail and helping her move the gurney down the hall.

Together, they maneuvered it inside and managed to slide Sam onto the bed without waking him. Muriel was quiet as she re-attached his monitor leads, glancing up at Dean as she switched the machines back on. Dean watched as she gently cleaned the blood from Sam's face and replaced the singed bandages, her face tense and confused as she fingered the lightly balckened gauze.

"Visiting hours are over, Mr. Winchester," she said, not looking at him. Her voice impersonal and gaurded.

Dean picked up one of Sam's limp hands, staring at his face.

"I can't leave him right now, Muriel. I… Please-" His voice cracked, and he turned pleading eyes toward her. "Please."

Her face softened a little, and she looked away, tucking the sheet over Sam's shoulder.

"I have paperwork to do," she said neutrally, but as she walked by she pushed the visitor's chair closer to him. Dean thanked her silently, waiting until she had left the room before settling in the chair to wait.

He would be there when Sam woke up; waiting to know if the pain had been worth it, if Sam was whole again.


A/N: Yes, yes, I know. I'm EVIL. Spawn of the devil, evil hell-bitch, blah blah blah. :) But don't worry, another chapter soon. :)